Phoenix Reborn
by Rosabell
Summary: When Severus Snape died, he never imagined that the old magics would turn him into a creature of everlasting light. He is eager to leave the past behind him forever, discarding the heartbreaks and the people who never cared about him. But the wizarding world is wounded, and as his old students struggle to pick up the pieces, Severus finds there are still things worth staying for.
1. Prologue

Phoenix Reborn

Prologue

He was warm.

_Look at me…_

His eyes had fallen shut. At first, there had been fire in his veins, fire in his bones. His heart, hammering at first as all of his systems collapsed. Even as he knew it was futile, he was fighting. His body rebelled against the chains of mortality, even as his mind accepted—it was out of his hands now. He had done his best. He had given everything he had in him, more than he thought he had left.

He thought the pain might have faded because he was unconscious, but that was not it, really. A cold had simply settled, quiet and still. His heart slowed. His blood cooled. Shadows around him, and no sign of the sun.

He would not see the sun rise.

But now he was warm, and an alien energy, a foreign strength, seemed to grow inside him. There was a light, dim at first, but all around him and growing steadily stronger. Blues and purples and greens and silvers, like the auroras of the north. They flickered and swirled, like tongues of a fire.

They _were _tongues of a fire.

Severus opened his eyes. The flames were dying down even as he looked, the ground hot and glowing with embers. His head felt odd as he turned, and when he expelled air to cough, a bizarre chirp escaped, absurdly loud in the night.

Feeling calm due to grogginess, Severus managed to take stock without moving. The grains of dirt were much bigger than he thought they should be. As the wind blew, he felt it course over him, but the effect was filtered, as if he had a blanket on. He coughed again, expelling another squeak, and saw something glimmer in front of him as it moved. A beak.

The beak that was attached to his face.

He managed to sit up, dazed. Above, the moon was shining. Low creaks of wood, and the rustling of leaves. He wanted to hold his head, but his hand was missing. His arm was not moving the way it should.

It was a wing, but not even feathered. It was covered with down.

Severus blinked, and sat there for a while, mind blank. When his thoughts cleared, the embers had all died out, but the smell of smoke was still in the air.

_What happened?_

He wiggled to stand upright, finding his new body difficult to coordinate. His legs were so short. His wings were so awkward.

He was so weak and tired.

An owl hooted, somewhere in the forest.

Exhausted, Severus sat down again, curling his taloned feet into his belly. He must be dreaming. An odd dream to have, before one died, but he was so tired he hardly cared. His thoughts were heavy again, like a heavy blanket had covered his mind, and all of the sudden thinking and feeling took more effort than anything he had ever done.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

It was hunger that woke him.

Daylight streamed over him, bathing him with the sun's radiance. He was warm, and strangely content, despite the pangs in his belly.

Severus looked up. Birds were singing. Wood was creaking. The Shrieking Shack.

It was hard to walk. He wondered if someone had turned him into a chicken. It would actually be just his luck, really. How was he supposed to turn back?

The forest was alive with life. He emerged from the shade into the morning sunlight. The air smelled fresh and sweet.

He looked around, wondering if it was really safe for him to come out.

_You faced the Dark Lord. Are you really afraid of predators?_

Strangely, his heart harbored no instinct that suggested he was afraid. It was actually the first time he had felt so completely devoid of fear. He had been frightened for almost as long as he could remember, dreading his unhappy home, dreading his future, dreading his past, and dreading the lives of others. He had learned to clamp it all down, to turn it into rage, to hate, to resignation. At the time, he thought that was what being fearless meant—to simply stop caring, that blunting numbness that deadened his heart to all hope and joy. Even when his terror spiked, he hardly registered it. It was hardly a dramatic change from the baseline he always bore.

Now, however, he felt so calm, he was almost tired again. Only the hunger pangs and the growing sense of thirst kept him from simply going back to sleep. How long had it been, since he truly slept? Had he ever really slept at all?

His ears picked up a splash. Water. He turned his head to locate the sound. Water first, for the thirst was growing, and he really wanted to drink. His head bobbed as he struggled forward. It was so awkward to move. At one point, he tripped, falling on his face. Luckily, the height was not large, and his neck was strong, probably stronger in proportion to his body than in a human.

The grass still had dew on them. He stopped and nibbled at the blades with his beak. The droplets were large, almost like swallowing whole glassfuls. He drank a few drops, feeling a bit stronger. His head cleared.

_What kind of bird did they turn me into?_

Odd that he seemed to be a baby, if the lack of real feathers was any indication. Severus trudged forward. He might as well take a look at his reflection. That might give him some idea. Severus was not as well-versed in animals as he was in potions, but there might be some hints.

The splash ended up being from a large puddle, but Severus' attention was caught by the bush growing next to it. Normally, he would avoid the berries on the tree, but right now the red jewels looked irresistible. He only spared a moment's thought to the consideration that they might poison him. He already felt poison once. It was excruciating, and yet here he was. Besides, what was poisonous to humans might not be poisonous to him.

If it did kill him, well, it was merely finishing a job that had started long ago.

Eating the berries proved to be a bit challenging at first. He kept missing with his beak, misjudging the distance, and the fact that he could not move his mouth from side to side also hindered things. The berries were larger than he could swallow, so he had to bite them down. The act of tossing the pieces up a little so he could swallow them also took practice.

Still, it was quick learning, especially since his neck was very flexible and strong. The berries tasted _wonderful_, better than anything he had ever tried. His stomach full, his mind felt a little heavy again. It seemed like whatever he had turned into had very low stamina.

He did come to the puddle to look at himself, though, and decide what must be done. Turning, he stepped to the edge.

It was very unnerving to see himself.

Grey down, white beak that looked a little hooked. Black eyes, large on an even larger head. A rather ambiguous look. Severus had no idea what he was.

_Not like I've seen many birds," _Severus thought. The only chick he had seen was Fawkes, in his baby form whenever he…

He retreated back, feeling a little discomfited. He remembered flames, though they had been green and blue and purple. He remembered glowing embers when the fire itself died away. He had been so out of it, he hardly registered his surroundings, and it was dark and he had been dying and he had not anticipated this.

He was supposed to be dead.

_Is this some kind of curse?_

Honestly, Severus would hardly count being transformed into this shape punishment of any kind. For the first time in a long time, his body was without pain and aches. The life of Severus Snape had been miserable. He had often wanted to be anything other than what he was, even a slug. He often looked out from the dungeons and wished that he had been one of the birds, one of the owls, perhaps. Even the vilest of wizards seemed to treat their owls better than anyone had treated Severus, except Lily…but Lily was gone, and the friendship between them had dissolved long before. Being human had earned him a life of strife and loneliness.

Being a bird, even a baby one, was not even the worst alternative.

_And a baby phoenix?_

He shook his head and laughed, except it came out as a small chirp. A phoenix! Severus Snape! That was laughable. He was a powerful wizard, true, but he was no animagus, and the phoenix was the embodiment of all that is pure and good, much like a unicorn. He had about as much chance of becoming a phoenix as Voldemort had of falling in love with a muggle.

Still, the thought was amusing, and he stepped closer to the berry bush in high spirits. _Ha! A phoenix! Keep dreaming. Hmph._

He was tired. He needed to digest the berries. Shutting his eyes, he released his awareness of his surroundings. It was probably not safe, but Severus had never felt as safe as he did now, and there was no use rationalizing through an irrational situation.

* * *

It took about three days for Severus to retract his earlier conclusion.

He grew at a pace that could only be magical. At first he did not notice. He merely followed his body's instructions: eat, drink, sleep. It was not until the third day when he saw that he had grown actual feathers that he considered he might not be a regular bird. Not even messenger owls grew this fast.

He still had down, and the interlacing feathers made him look rather ragged. He could tell that the plumage vaguely resembled Fawkes', though. The feathers were colored differently; emerald, turquoise, azure, white, and violet. There were distinctly intricate patterns on his crest starting to form. They formed swirls along his wings and back, and his growing tail was patterned a little like a peacock's, as if someone had embroidered on him.

He would have felt alarmed, if his new body had been capable of feeling fear. As it was, he was only puzzled.

_What happened?_

The last thing he remembered was Potter. Potter, hurrying, all those memories of Lily. He had needed someone to know…to understand. He never suffered any delusion that understanding would make anyone feel compelled to like him. Severus had never been likeable; no one had liked him except Lily, and even that did not last. But he had wished someone would know that he tried, he tried so hard. He had wished that after he died, people would at least know that much. That he was not just another Death Eater. That he really did give everything he had, even if it was inadequate. That at least, her son would know, whatever conclusions he might draw.

And then he remembered being…alone, when the children left him to see to the desperate world, and he was on fire, he was cold, the shadows obscuring him from the heavens. No one to miss him.

And then he was warm.

This was too confusing. His memories were quite clear, but they provided no answers. There was also a strange feeling of detachment, like the sorrows of his past no longer pertain to him. It was as if the life of Severus Snape was another one altogether, even if he retained all the memories.

_Maybe this is how phoenixes are made._ From people's memories.

_But _**_my _**_memories are hardly suitable for…_

Giving up, Severus ate a few more berries, this time whole since he was big enough to swallow them. Clearly, contemplating his condition on his own was not going to reveal any answers. He was not that eager to find them, anyhow. The intensity he had pursued knowledge in his youth, and intelligence later as a spy, seemed to have been completely extinguished. He was rather content to just eat and drink and sleep as he had for the past few days.

* * *

It was two days later when Severus tried flying.

His feathers had all grown in now. Long lines of green, blue, and violet on a baseline white. He wore a tall crown and his tail swept, longer than even Fawkes'. His neck had grown longer, and arched like a swan.

He had no idea there were phoenixes with this kind of coloring, but if he was not a phoenix, he had no idea what he was. A phoenix he would call himself, then.

The first flight attempt was not too impressive. Severus realized this was because his feathers kept letting air through. He spent the next hour preening before trying again.

He always figured that birds needed to practice; that was what he gleaned from Hagrid whenever he spoke about flying. It made some sense, and he expected he might need to practice this the way he needed to practice eating.

But when he spread his wings, thrust out his tail, and flapped them hard as he kicked off with his feet, he felt himself lift off alarmingly quickly, and quickly landed, disoriented.

That was…

He tried again, determined to stay in the air this time. A few awkward flaps, and this time he landed because he was moving forward, not just up, and he had not anticipated that. He skidded to a rough landing, using his wings to brace the air, and stood there for a moment, collecting his bearings.

_You've flown before._

That was a lifetime ago, and he had a different body, and he had _magic…_

But if he was a phoenix, he still had magic, right? Besides, he was a _bird._ Birds were meant to fly.

Drawing on his courage, Severus kicked off, determined to keep flapping his wings this time.

He sailed up at the first beat, reached up to flap down another pocket of air, and before he knew it he was over the trees.

_Oh Merlin, I am flying!_

He extended his tail, indulging in a bit of vanity, for he knew the streaming train would look impressive if anyone saw him. He did not care that there was no one around to actually see; it was enough that _he _knew, and that he was in this new form and it was _wonderful_. It was beautiful, it was elegant, everything he was not as a human, and he _loved _it.

He let out a whoop, and it came out as a trill, glorious and bright like the sun above him.

He glided around, intent on picking a random direction and just flying straight, but a structure caught his eye; the Shrieking Shack.

It was quite burnt, actually. He had not realized that it was all burnt up like that. Curious, Severus flew close to take a look.

_"Oh my god…_"

Familiar voices. A girl's voice. The Granger girl. In fact, several of his former students were there. They were not looking in his direction, instead staring straight at the building.

Severus flew to a tree and managed to land on it awkwardly. It swung a little under his weight, but stabilized. Clearly, he needed to work on this part of flying.

Clicking his beak, he glanced down at the wizards, who were starting to approach the shack.

_"No_,_" _It was Potter, and his voice was cracking, like he was close to screaming. _"No, this can't be right." _He was running ahead of the group.

What were these children doing here?

_"No, he's gone!" _This time Potter did scream. _"No! He's gone! Snape's—they've—**no!**"_

_"Harry!"_

The others were running to him. Weasley's ginger hair, Longbottom's brown head. Severus tilted his head, considering the scene for a moment, as the children disappeared under the ruined roof of the shack. The shack might have been burned when Severus transformed, now that he thought of it.

_What is upsetting them so much?_ Severus never figured Potter had any close attachments to the run-down building. Maybe because it was the place his father and godfather had transformed with Lupin? Or maybe he was actually upset that his least favorite professor's body had disappeared. Maybe they needed a body to prove Severus was dead in order to close the case, or something. Ministry paperwork was always so tedious like that.

Curious what these children would do now, Severus hopped off his branch and fluttered through one of the windows of the old building to join them. He had no intention of actually interacting with them. This phoenix form was infinitely better than his old one, and he had no intention of undoing whatever happy mishap caused his transformation.

He did want to see what happened to the area his body had been, though. One last look at things, before he left for good.

Certain motions needed going through, after all.


	2. The Spoils of War

Phoenix Reborn

The Spoils of War

The place still smelled like smoke. Oddly sweet, for something that was borne of horrible deeds. Harry brushed at the ashes, picking up the pieces of cloth left over and clutching onto them tightly, as if they were Severus Snape himself.

The soot formed a morbid shape of a man in his last moments. Harry could make out the head, the torso, the long arms and legs, the feet ending in the burnt shoes. It made his stomach clench, this crude life-size portrait, faceless and featureless and the only thing left of the Potions Master.

He was going to be sick.

Harry was spinning around. Someone touched his shoulder and he swore, lashing out with his arm. The back of his forearm connected with someone's face, and he only partially registered that; the rest of him was stumbling away, doubling over, heaving—but he was dry. There was nothing to bring up. He had not eaten anything in who knew how long.

_"…ever did this is no longer here, the area's clear…"_

Harry could name a number of other people he would rather see reduced to ash. That vermin, Pettigrew. That crazy shrew, Bellatrix Lestrange. It was hard to take, because though Harry had never been close to the man, right now Snape was the last person Harry wanted to see reduced to this. He could take it if even Fred had been reduced to this, or Remus. Even if it had been his own parents. Just not Snape, because out of all of them, Snape was the only one who had been suspected, had been picked on, blamed, labeled a traitor, and the idea that a man can be so loyal, can face Evil in the face for the good of others, and yet live a life so full of suffering and unhappiness, only to have absolutely nothing good come from it—it was more than Harry could stand.

There were shadows swirling in front of his eyes. Black spots, pulsing with his blood. He was vaguely aware of Ron grabbing him, of Neville on his other side. Ginny sniffling. At least he thought it was Ginny. It could easily have been Hermione. She had always regarded Snape with more respect than the rest of them.

"Easy there, mate," Ron remarked, "Deep breaths. Come on now."

They did not understand. _Bloody hell. _None of them could understand. Harry wanted to scream. _It's not fair._ Snape should at least have a body. He should at least have a proper burial.

"…Harry?"

Hermione was holding something out to him. Harry blinked. His glasses were slightly smudged, and it took a moment to realize what she had in her hands.

"I…don't know if that's what you want," She sounded like she was talking to a wild animal bent on eating her. Harry was too busy containing the impulse to hit something, though, and hardly acknowledged this observation. "We can bury the urn…at least that's something."

He took it from her without deciding to. It was as if his hands moved on their own, controlled by something other than himself. Kind of like Imperio, except Imperio tries to lull a person into a suggestible state. Right now, all he felt was detached from his body.

Hermione had conjured a golden urn, simple and more like a goblet than anything, probably because even someone with as much foresight and interest in books as Hermione would hardly predict that one day she might have to conjure something like this. The color was awful, and Harry could not help but feel that was a poor match. Snape always hated Gryffindors. He was a Slytherin, he should not have to suffer Gryffindor colors.

Still, an urn was an urn, and he was suddenly too tired to care about trivial matters like color or shape. As he turned his body around, Neville and Ron both stepped back, hovering just in case, but giving him room. He regarded the outline of soot on the ground. All of his friends were on his side, staying away from the tattered bits of charred cloth and shoes—how often did that happen, even when Snape was alive? An army of Gryffindors, and Snape, all alone.

He wanted to throw the urn at someone.

"Aren't you a pretty thing!"

Luna's remark was a shock, cutting through the air like a whip. She was actually on the other side of where the rest of them were, right outside the room, looking up the stairs. The Ravenclaw had always been eccentric, a little ignorant of social atmospheres. In the past, Harry had not minded that much. Her tendency to overlook the tensions between others had always been more of a relief than disruptive.

Right now, however, he wanted to throw the urn at _her_.

"Come on, it's alright, I won't hurt you."

"…the bloody hell is she talking to?" Ron moved toward her, wand in his hand. Harry, still restraining the urge to attack someone, stayed behind and allowed his friends to handle things for once. He turned to regard the ashes, when his mind went blank for a moment.

Collect the ashes…into the urn…what was he supposed to do, just sweep up the remains of a man's body and just pile them into the bowl? Or was there a spell for this? This use to be a man. A wizard. This use to be Snape. Snape was now just a pile of ash.

Harry dropped the urn, allowing it to clang, and then sat down heavily on the floor. He suddenly felt depleted. He would not be surprised if nothing happened when he tried casting spells, because he felt as empty as if a Dementor had sucked his soul out of his body.

_"Doesn't really look like Fawkes, but you're right, it does remind me of him though…"_

There was a fluttering sound, and suddenly a draft blew the ashes out of the pile. Harry shot to his feet, cursing, but it was a bird, with iridescent feathers and a long sweeping tail. It sailed into the room and after disrupting the soot, it flew up and landed on one of the overhanging beams.

Harry stared. It did resemble Fawkes, a little. It was larger, more elegant somehow, with more neatly-arranged plumage as opposed to wide and grand. The crest was slender and elegant with tight and ordered coloring. The tail also had distinct patterns, like a peacock.

Ron and Luna wandered back to join the others.

"Is it a phoenix?" Ron asked Hermione.

The girl was speechless for a moment. "It does look like one," She admitted.

"Of course it's a phoenix," Luna said airily, "They don't all have to be red, you know. They can be cool-colored. I wonder if it was watching over this place."

_Watching over…_watching Snape die. Harry saw the bite-marks on the man's neck as if he were there again. Fawkes could cure basilisk poison, if that bloody bird had been around it might have been able to save Snape too, because Nagini was no basilisk. Did this bird really just hang around as a man was in his death throes?

"Come on, pretty one, come here," The Ravenclaw cooed, but the bird ignored her, staring down at the ground.

Hermione was muttering to Neville. "Fawkes was special, normally you can't domesticate a phoenix…"

The phoenix suddenly swooped down. The draft sent the ash swirling into the air as it landed in the middle of the pile, right where Snape's chest would have been.

Swearing, Harry drew his wand at it. Phoenix or not, he was not going to let this wretched animal desecrate the only things remaining of Snape. He had no idea what spell he was going to use, for some reason he wanted to say _Expelliarmus_, even though that was ludicrous—

The phoenix trilled, lifting its head.

The sound smoothed over Harry like soothing cream over a burn, washing out his sorrows and taking his anger with it.

He lowered his wand as the bird fluttered back up, spreading the ashes out in a mess.

* * *

They swept up what remains of Severus Snape they could, as the phoenix watched. Much of the work was done in silence. Luna tried to coax the bird to coming to her, but it just ignored her, watching impassively from its post up on the rafters. Harry had no trouble imagining the creature just staring as a man died, but its earlier song had taken away his ire. There was nothing to be done about it now. War brought many unhappy endings. Severus Snape's was just worse than most, but there was nothing Harry could do about it now. Harry had always been able to do only so much, for anyone.

He tried to imagine that the phoenix sang to Snape in his last moments. Maybe its song comforted him as he died. Harry would never know, but it was something, at least. A hope.

Hermione gingerly wiped at her forehead with her wrist, afraid of brushing her face and smudging it with Snape's remains. Harry stared at her, thinking this was too surreal. Ginny held Snape's shoes.

_Snape is gone, this urn is holding the stuff that use to be a man…_Harry shut his eyes.

"Come on, let's go," Ron encouraged, "Mum'll be worried by now. You know how she is after…after Fred…" He swallowed.

Harry nodded, pressing the urn close to his chest. It was sort of liking hugging the man. Snape would probably be horrified.

The phoenix suddenly swept down from the rafters. It managed to go through the door that led outside, but landed on the ground, hopping twice, before taking off again. Something about its journey looked a little awkward to Harry, as if the bird had not done it as gracefully as it could have.

Still, what did he know about birds? Just because Harry was good on a broom did not mean he knew all there was to know about flying.

"That was odd," Luna remarked. Harry did not ask her what she found odd about it.

The group left the Shrieking Shack, blinking in the daylight. Harry almost felt disoriented by how bright it was outside. Ron was searching his pockets for the portkey to the Burrow. Harry looked again at the phoenix, which was roosting in the trees. He hugged the urn a little tighter to himself.

"Harry?"

The others were holding onto the portkey. Harry swallowed and gripped the urn with one hand to release the other. He shut his eyes as he felt something yank under his navel.

* * *

That was the Potter he knew: angry, impulsive, emotional.

Severus preened. He probably should not have fluttered into his own ashes. It occurred to him that this was probably why phoenixes start off as babies every cycle. The stuff got into his feathers and was most annoying.

Once the children left, he spent about an hour preening out the soot from his wings. Then he worked on his tail. Feathers were high maintenance, he was finding. He wondered if Fawkes spent nearly as much time doing this, or if Severus was just a novice and still trying to get use to his new form.

He sat for a while once he was done, thinking. Much of what happened was actually a bit confusing. Potter had seemed distraught, but he was not sure why. And the careful collection of the ashes…he was not sure what the point of that was.

Well, two things were quite clear: if the children were comfortable enough to come here looking for his body, it was probably safe to say that the Dark Lord had been dealt with. At least Potter had accomplished that. Strangely, the knowledge did not fill him with the satisfaction he expected. He almost did not care at all. Voldemort was so removed from him now, and the fact that he was gone and the wizarding world was safe meant fairly little to him. Severus had no loved ones to rejoice over. No one lived that would miss him either.

The second thing was that the _children _thought he was a phoenix, and if he was a phoenix then there was no reason to keep worrying about _human _matters. He was a good-looking bird now, and he intended to make use of that. Last he remembered, Fawkes could move around in bursts of flame, sort of like apparition. He wondered if he could do that?

_But where should I go?_

Not Hogwarts. Despite the tranquil calm he floated in with this new form, something about Hogwarts repelled him. There had been too much pain there, all those years of ducking his head in the shadows as students bullied him, as fellow professors whispered about him, Lily's turned back, and Dumbledore, with his twinkling eyes and utter lack of regard for Severus' happiness in the name of his precious Gryffindors. _Greasy git, slimy Slytherin…_the past was a myriad of hurt, and Severus was not willing to put up with that just yet. Maybe later, when he was more comfortable in his new shape and this apparent new life he had been granted.

_But if not Hogwarts, where?_

Someplace…someplace busy, maybe. He can start a ruckus. Go to a crowd and cause a stir. This was something the old Severus Snape would never do. The old Severus Snape was always hiding, keeping to the dark, hoping to be ignored, because he was ugly, he was unlikeable, he was creepy, slimy _Snivellus_, and even when he convinced himself that he hardly wanted the attentions of all the idiots around him, the real reason he kept to himself was because he knew he would be rejected and it would hurt.

Severus the Phoenix had no such fears. He was not even human. And he was a good-looking bird. He found himself bobbing his head up and down at the thought. _I am a good-looking bird._

He was such an idiot. _When did I become such an idiot?_

Still, there was something funny about this, and as a trill bubbled out of him at the thought, he decided there was something amusing about causing a stir at Diagon Alley too. He could go around and mess with people, children would point, and they would call him a "pretty thing" the way that Lovegood girl did, but none of them would be able to get him.

That could be enjoyable. He was going to do that.

If he could get there.

Maybe it was like apparating? He could just focus on where in Diagon Alley and—

* * *

_"Blimey!"_

_"Stupefy!"_

Some idiot shot a stun at him. Severus had materialized in midair and was too busy flapping his wings and keeping himself airborne to dodge. Luckily, he did seem to be a phoenix after all, because the stun did absolutely nothing to him.

He made his way to a roof, stumbling and scrabbling for purchase. Well, that could have worked out better. He did not realize people in Diagon Alley were so jumpy nowadays.

He did not realize so many Aurors prowled the place either. _Huh._

There were still wands pointing at him, but he felt the need to preen again because the stun had ruffled his breast feathers. He thought human hair was bad, it seemed like feathers get mussed up every ten minutes.

_"What is that?"_

_"What kind of…"_

_"…come from?"_

Severus finished, looking up, then down. They were still pointing wands at him, but the faces looked shocked and bemused. A whole bunch of Aurors and regular witches and wizards, staring at a bird.

_Ahahaha that is funny,_ and Severus tossed his head back and trilled.

Something eased in everyone's postures at this.

_"That's a phoenix!"_

_"Never seen one with that coloring before…"_

_Ahahaha that is funny too, hahahahaha,_ Severus trilled again, and then wondered what was wrong with himself. _Well, I am not a wizard, so why should I think like one?_ There was no logical rebuttal for that, so he tossed his head back and trilled again.

"Come here," Someone was calling, much like Lovegood.

_No,_ Severus thought, taking off from the roof. No one was 'coming here'. He was through with obeying orders from others.

* * *

The wizarding world can begin to heal, they said.

_We have suffered grievous losses,_ they said, _But now, finally, the worst is over._

Sometimes Harry would look at the sky, bright blue and cheerful, and see how people might believe that. The world seemed the same as always, hardly affected by the turmoil of human society.

_"Try…to…my parents…get them…remember me…"_

He had not seen Hermione for a while.

_From now on, things will only get better,_ they said.

_"Remus…died…battle…your godson…"_

He found himself thinking often of Dumbledore, but in a way he never thought he would contemplate before. He missed the old wizard, and despite knowing better, had always thought of Dumbledore as a safety railing of sorts, relying on him to be there when needed, that impenetrable force that even Voldemort feared. He remembered the old man's quirks, the way he always seemed to know what was going on, just what to say and just what to do. The way he could protect simply through his reputation, without even lifting a wand, because he had proved himself many times over before Harry had even been born.

Most of all, though, Harry thought about how Dumbledore remained alone all his life. The man had no spouse and no children of his own. Harry never gave it that much thought until now, now that his heart felt empty and heavy with the burden of so much loss in so little time. Sometimes Ginny would hover by him and Harry would want to tell her to go away. There was the thought that he just needed a little time to himself, that he did not want her support because he could not support her back, had nothing left in him with which to support her own loss and pain…but then he would wonder if there was really an end to this empty feeling, after he had to shoulder a prophecy and face his destiny and all that came with it. Perhaps he had gone through too much to ever feel normal again.

And then he would remember Dumbledore, the powerful, but eccentric wizard, whose oddness could all be pinned down to the fact that he was close to no one, no matter how much he appeared to like those around him. Perhaps his own battles with dark lords had left him with the same emptiness, one that he never healed from.

Snape's urn was at his bedside. Harry had a feeling the potions master would be affronted, being stored and placed on a bedside table like a paperweight, but then he had no idea where else to put the ashes. By the window? In his trunk? Anywhere would feel odd, because the sad truth was Harry knew the problem was not where to place the ashes as much as the fact that Snape did not have a choice. He had to go wherever Harry put him.

This was so messed up.

_"He does not want to talk, he does not want to give a press conference, go away!"_

The door slammed, and there were footsteps, before Ginny's head tilted out from the side of the door. "Harry? Are you…are you okay?"

He was lying on his bed, feeling sorry for himself…but he really had no energy to do anything but brood, these days. Self-pity was not becoming, but he felt like he had expended all of himself to stay strong and face Voldemort. Now that _he _was gone, brooding was a luxury he was going to partake in, becoming or not. He did not answer her.

She stepped into the room, and he could tell from his peripheral vision, blurry outside the edges of his glasses, that she was unsure.

Snape was on his bloody table. Packed in a container, like a pile of dirt. They were going to have to find some opportunity to go to Godric's Hollow, when all of this is over. He had a feeling Snape would want to be buried next to his mother. It seemed the least he could do for a man who lost everything for her.

_Where else can I put him? In the closet?_ Maybe he should transfigure a special altar in his room. It seemed so demeaning, placing someone on a table like one of his school textbooks.

No one else who fought for the light had to go through this nonsense. No one else had to prove their loyalty. Harry raised his hands and pressed his palms to his temples. He knew that even if he went out and declared Snape a hero, had revealed his side of the story, there were still going to be people who would hate him, who just would not _understand_.

Ginny sat down on the edge of the bed. "Got an owl from Hermione, she said that she found her parents and they're working through things."

That was nice. At least they survived. Harry stared up at the ceiling.

"She said she's going to come by soon, probably next week. She really wants to spend some time with her parents…after everything."

Harry could understand that. If he were reunited with his parents right now, he would want to stay with them for a month. Six months. A year. Forever. A week was hardly any time at all, compared to the time spent without them. These days, no one took anything for granted.

Ginny was uncomfortable, Harry could tell. Drawing himself up a little, he looked at her.

"Sorry," He apologized, "I've just been really…tired. But you've all gone through just as much."

"Not as much as you," Ginny reached out to take his hand, squeezing it. "Mum's been worried about you."

Molly Weasley was a fascinating woman. Harry could not understand how she could think to worry about him when she had lost her own son. He could not really understand how any of the Weasleys could think to worry about him when their own loss was so profound. Raising Ginny's hand, he kissed the back of it, suddenly glad he never gave in to the urge to brush her off. Restraint had its uses.

"I'll be fine. We'll all be fine."

She smiled at this, and suddenly Harry found himself believing his own words. He had said them without much thought, just to fulfill some social requirement, but he supposed platitudes were not as empty as they seemed.

Voldemort was dead. They had triumphed. It was time they acted like it.

* * *

"So many good, noble people die, and _Rita Skeeter_ manages to pull through without any worse for wear."

"I don't understand how any human being can be alright with being so annoying."

"It's narcissism, or some other mental disorder."

"How does this woman still get jobs?"

"Maybe because people like reading absurd rubbish."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I almost want to read her article too, but my sense of humor had not _died_."

Ron turned the page, folding the newspaper in half. "'New Phoenix Sighted At Diagon Alley; Here to Stay?' Whoa…Harry, it's the same bird we saw at the Shrieking Shack!"

"Is it?" Fleur, who was passing the eggs to Bill, leaned over to look. She had not seen the phoenix, but the Weasleys had told her about it.

"Oh my," Said Molly Weasley, also leaning over to look.

"'For the past three days, the phoenix had been seen flying overhead at the marketplace.' Yeah, that's it alright," Ron tilted the newspaper so Harry could look. It was black and white, but the shape of the plumage was irrefutable.

"That's really odd," Said Bill, "I think I remember Charlie mentioning once that phoenixes don't tend to live near civilization. They like to live up in the mountains."

"It's a sight, to be sure," His mother remarked, "Harry, dear, have a little more of those potatoes. You do need to eat more, you don't eat nearly enough for a boy your age."

"May I have that?" Harry asked, and Ron wordlessly handed the paper to him. He ate some of his potatoes before reading the article. It mentioned that the phoenix had emerged one afternoon, the same day Harry and his friends went to look for Snape. Since then it seemed to just hang around the place.

Ron and Ginny were arguing next to him.

"Phoenixes can't change color, that's stupid. It can't be Fawkes."

"You can't seriously tell me that any random bird would just show up at a wizard's marketplace, Ginny."

"Why not? Dumbledore got Fawkes from somewhere."

"Fawkes was different and…Dumbledore was also different."

"Last I remember, changing their feathers isn't something phoenixes do. And Fawkes has no reason to show up."

Harry finished reading and handed the newspaper to their mother, who looked like she was curious too. It was nice to be able to read something trivial. He did not care for all the other articles reporting about the current death tolls, the arrests, the press conferences, Rita Skeeter. Something meaningless, like a weird bird that showed up out of nowhere and baffled the people commuting through Diagon Alley…that was a nice change from the way things have been, lately.

Someone knocked on the door.

Ginny groaned. "These people just don't give up."

Harry felt bad, because he was partially responsible for why the reporters had been constantly harassing the Weasleys lately. "Thanks," he said, hoping his voice conveyed his sincerity, "I'll talk to them…eventually. I promise."

"You take all the time you need. I'm annoyed at _them_. Honestly, it hasn't even been…"

"I'll go with you, dear." Molly Weasley scooted her chair back to stand properly. Harry watched the mother and daughter head out together to scare off the unwanted guest. Ever since killing Bellatrix Lestrange, sometimes he caught an edge to the older woman whenever her temper rose. It seemed like killing the murderess had made her cross a line of sorts. Harry always knew that Molly would do anything to defend her family, but there was always that undercurrent of _'but can she do **that**?'_ He doubted Molly even knew, herself, until the time came and it was no longer a choice. The act had changed her, however subtly. Before, she was softer, for all her extroverted personality. Now there was a lethal touch to her anger, replacing _"I will kill you" _with _"I have killed those who crossed me and mine", _and somehow that switch, the presence of a positive history for such things, just transformed the whole situation. Strange, how one moment can have such profound effects.

He took another bite of potatoes, choosing to ignore the steely voices warning the reporters to leave.

* * *

It was two weeks after the fall of Voldemort when Kingsley came by to ask Harry to talk to the press; the Acting Minister had checked on Harry before, but then was swamped with the duties of his new station. His presence was calming and stable, and talking to the press was actually not so hard. Harry used the opportunity to release the idea of Snape working for the Light the whole time, though he did not feel like elaborating. So many things were too personal, and even if the man was dead…usually when someone died, there were people left behind who would care about this sort of thing. Harry knew he would never be alright with people knowing the intimate details of his parents, especially if either James or Lily wanted to keep them to themselves. Snape had no one else, so Harry would care about this for him, as a loved one would.

They still had not gotten a chance to go to Godric's Hollow, something that actually annoyed Harry a little. Still, he had no idea what he was supposed to do once they were there. A funeral was too dangerous right now, given the unrest and the Death Eaters still at large, and what was he supposed to do, dig a hole somewhere and dump the urn in it? This was not like Moody. The war was over, even if the aftershocks were still trembling. Snape deserved something more…proper.

"Well," Kingsley clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder when the conference was done, "You did well, I thought."

"It could have gone worse," Harry agreed. He felt tired, despite the fact that the reporters were not as vicious as he thought they were going to be, considering he had been ignoring their insistent requests for interviews for the past fourteen days.

"What are your plans now?"

Harry shrugged. "Go back to the Burrow, I guess. I haven't really thought that far ahead."

"Mind if we talk about something for a moment?"

Harry looked up. "…Sure. Is…something wrong?"

"The department needs more Aurors. As you are probably aware, we have been short-staffed, and even though the boss is out, his minions remain at large, causing havoc." The man looked at Harry in the eye. "We can really use your help right now."

Harry thought for a moment. He had been wallowing, of a sorts. In the two weeks since the battle at Hogwarts, he had not done anything useful at all…but the thought of entering the fray, partaking in the madness again, it made him feel cold.

"You don't have to agree now," Kingsley went on, "Imagine we can take care of things as they stand. The Headmistress did tell me once that you wanted to be an Auror. I suppose I should have started with that. Is that still true?"

Harry's hesitation was shorter this time. He did not _want _to go back to the continuing conflict…but he had no idea what he would rather be. It seemed like something he was meant for, and once Voldemort was taken care of, surely things would be different? After all, the reason the Ministry was short on Aurors was because Aurors never had to face anything like Voldemort before. They likely will not have to, at least until the next psychopath showed up, and with any luck Harry's children would be old by then. "Yeah. It's just…it's really soon, you know. I still have…" _I still have Snape's ashes on my bedside table._ He swore mentally. "We still have loved ones to bury, and…"

Kingsley waved his hand dismissively. "As I said, you don't have to agree now. I only ask this because I want to know if we should expect you. At this point, you probably have more experience defending against dark magic practitioners than most of the folks who would enter the program this year."

_I guess._

"When you're ready, let me know. We're not going to just toss you back into the front lines. Plenty of work to be done behind it, you know." The older man laid a hand on his shoulder. "Life goes on. That's always been how things go."

_Yeah,_ Harry thought, _That is._

* * *

Diagon Alley was a right mess. Harry did not catch that from the photos, but there had been enough skirmishes in the place that the area looked like an earthquake went through it. With the help of magic, reconstruction was going far faster than they would have in the muggle world, but even so, it was hard not to notice the contrast between its present state and the state it had been years ago. Harry could remember the first time he went to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. _Merlin, I should visit him, see how he is doing._ He had been avoiding the idea of visiting Hogwarts. He did not want to see what he would find there.

Hermione was due to meet him after the press conference. He found her waiting by the side of the street, opposite Madame Malkin's, which actually looked better off than the shops around it. The two exchanged a quick hug.

"How are you doing, Harry?" She asked, looking at him as if trying to see if he bore any scratches.

"I'm fine," Harry breathed out through his nose. "What about you? Your parents alright?"

"Yeah," She smiled a watery smile, and seemed unable to say any more.

_"There's that bird again…_"

The two of them turned at this. Sure enough. up on one of the roofs, the phoenix was perched, grooming itself.

"…Is that…?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed a little, relieved at such a trivial distraction, "Apparently showed up the afternoon we left the shack. Odd coincidence, if you ask me."

"Phoenixes don't tend to stick around wizards," Hermione frowned.

"Yeah. This one's a weird one. Hey, who are we to judge? Any species has the right to have an odd one now and then."

"I suppose," Hermione was frowning that frown she always wore whenever she was seeing something the rest of them were not. She looked too confused to articulate what it was, however.

"Well, let's go," She said at last. "I might come back tomorrow, help with…fixing things."

Harry glanced around them. That was actually not a bad idea. Not fight-oriented, but still helpful. Purely constructive.

"Right now though, I want to see the Weasleys."

"Sounds good."

He looked up at the phoenix, catching sight of its feathers that glimmered in the sun. _What a lovely bird._ It was the last thing he saw before they disappeared from Diagon Alley.


End file.
